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1 Band. 'T is in the malice of mankind, that he thus advises us; not to have us thrive in our mystery.
2 Band. I 'll believe him as an enemy, and give over my trade.
1 Band. Let us first see peace in Athens: there is no time so miserable, but a man may be true.
TIMon comes forward from his Cave.
Have you forgot me,
Flav. An honest poor servant of yours.
Then, I know thee not:
Flav. The gods are witness,
Because thou art a woman, and disclaim'st
Flinty mankind; whose eyes do never give ,
Flav. I beg of you to know me, good my lord,
Tim. Had I a steward
Flav. No, my most worthy master; in whose breast
For this one wish,
you had power and wealth To requite me by making rich yourself.
Tim. Look thee, 't is so. Thou singly honest man,
0! let me stay,
If thou hat'st
ACT V. SCENE I.
The Same. Before Timon's Cave.
Enter Poet and Painter. Pain. As I took note of the place, it cannot be far where he abides.
Poet. What 's to be thought of him? Does the rumour hold for true, that he is so full of gold?
Pain. Certain: Alcibiades reports it; Phrynia and Timandra had gold of him: he likewise enriched poor straggling soldiers with great quantity. 'T is said, he gave unto his steward a mighty
Poet. Then this breaking of his has been but a try for his friends.
Pain. Nothing else; you shall see him a palm in Athens again, and flourish with the highest. Therefore, 't is not amiss, we tender our loves to him, in this supposed distress of his: it will show honestly in us, and is very likely to load our purposes with what they travail for, if it be a just and true report that goes of his having.
Poet. What have you now to present unto him?
Pain. Nothing at this time but my visitation; only, I will promise him an excellent piece.
Poet. I must serve him so too; tell him of an intent that's coming toward him.
Pain. Good as the best. Promising is the very air o' the time: it opens the eyes of expectation: performance is ever the duller for his act; and, but in the plainer and simpler kind of people, the deed of saying is quite out of use. To promise is most courtly and fashionable: performance is a kind of will, or testament, which argues a great sickness in his judgment that makes it.
Enter TIMON, from his Cave. Tim. Excellent workman! Thou canst not paint a man so bad as is thyself.
Poet. I am thinking, what I shall say I have provided for him. It must be a personating of himself: a satire against the softness of prosperity, with a discovery of the infinite flatteries that follow youth and opulency.
Tim. Must thou needs stand for a villain in thine own work? Wilt thou whip thine own faults in other men? Do so; I have gold for thee.
Poet. Nay, let's seek him :
Tim. I.'ll meet you at the turn. What a god 's gold,
"T is thou that rigg'st the bark, and plough'st the foam;
[Advancing Poet. Hail, worthy Timon? Pain.
Our late noble master.'
Tim. Let it go naked, men may see 't the better:
He, and myself,
Ay, you are honest men.
Tim. Most honest men! Why, how shall I requite you?
Both. What we can do, we 'll do, to do you service.
Tim. You are honest men. You have heard that I have gold; I am sure you have: speak truth; you are honest men.
Pain. So it is said, my noble lord; but therefore
Tim. Good honest men ? - Thou draw'st a counterfeit
So, so, my lord.